


Coup de Foudre

by wynsolstice



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Three Years Later, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynsolstice/pseuds/wynsolstice
Summary: There was a phrase in French that Yuuri had learned while attending college in Detroit-coup de foudre- that meant to fall in love at first sight, to be overwhelmed with the suddenness and passion in which it occurred. Translated literally, it meant a “bolt of lightning”, and that was exactly what it was like, to be struck numb by a feeling charged with power that came without warning and against his control.Tumblr prompt from@otabekismybff: Yuuri as a retired skater (who never met Viktor) sees 18-year-old Yuri Plisetsky skate and feels inspired to become his new choreographer. At first they don't get along, but then things take a drastic turn for the better.Thanks for the prompt! You can find it on Tumblrhere!Updated with aChinesetranslation!!!





	

“Let me choreograph your short program.” Yuuri’s voice left no room for argument, but that had never stopped the fiery Russian before- his jaw dropped to create a comical display of disbelief.

“Are you kidding?” It took all of Yuri’s self-control to keep from cursing like a sailor, if only because Yakov would start screaming at him for it. “No way. I don’t need the help of some random foreigner, thanks.”

Beside him, Mila blinked in surprise. “You don’t know who this-”

“Let me prove it to you,” Yuuri insisted, interrupting her and raising his chin. I’ll show you a short program that won’t just get you to the Grand Prix, it’ll put a gold medal around your shoulders.”

Yuri stiffened, narrowing his eyes. Was his ambition that obvious, that some stranger was picking up on his hunger for the gold medal? Then again, it didn’t take an idiot to see the fury on Yuri’s face every time Viktor stood above him and pressed his lips to his medal mockingly- he was sick of losing to him. 

“If the short program isn’t what you wanted, you can trash it,” Yuri said, picking up on his hesitance. “Nobody’s forcing you to using it at prelims. I’m sure you have other sources, and there’s still a good couple of months until the competitive season starts, right?”

Yuri scowled, folding his arms across his chest. Yuuri was infuriatingly stubborn, just like him- it was like two rams locking horns, neither willing to back down. Eventually, somebody would be pushed off of the edge, and Yuri was determined to stay standing at the end of this.

“Fine,” Yuri spat, meeting his eyes. “I’ll let you choreograph a short program. But it better be the best fucking program I’ve ever seen, if I’m going to waste my time on it.”

Yuri could hear Yakov grumbling and knew he was going to get an earful for it later, but he didn’t pay him any mind and continued to stare at the other man, whose eyes were unwavering as he nodded once.

“I’ll meet you here at the same time tomorrow,” Yuuri said, unflinching. “But you’d better be willing to skate with everything you’ve got.”

* * *

“Yuuri, are you out of your mind?!” Phichit leaned closer to the camera, his eyes stretched wide. “You can’t create a figure skating program in a _day_! Normal choreographers struggle to finish a program in a week.”

“I know,” Yuuri said.

“Not to mention, you don’t have time to choreograph for this Plisetsky kid. You’re not even supposed to _be_  in Russia. Do you even have music planned? Step sequences? _Jumps_?” Phichit ran his hands through his hair, stressed. “You haven’t even stepped on the ice in like a year!”

“Hey,” Yuri said in defense, raising his hands, “that’s not true. It’s only been a few months.”

“You haven’t competed in three years,” Phichit retorted. “Also, do you even know who Yuri Plisetsky is? He’s _huge_ , one of the the best figure skaters in the world next to Viktor Nikiforov himself.”

Yuuri bit his lip nervously. Phichit had a bad habit of worrying, but his points were legitimate- once again he had gone and made a heat-of-the-moment decision without even thinking about it beforehand. 

But. He knew he could do this if he tried. He’d seen it when he’d walked in on Yuri practicing: the fire he’d been searching for in the past three years, the passion he’d had when he first stepped onto the ice. In the brief program Yuri had practiced, Yuuri had been exposed to all of the things that drew him into skating- an unconditional love for the ice, a passion for the music, and unwavering commitment to the program.

Yuri Plisetsky didn’t just perform the program he had, he built off of it and turned it into something incredible, something different. The way his body moved was unlike anything Yuuri had ever seen before, and the jumps he did were inhumanly difficult, yet he pulled them off without flinching.

He was a monster. Exactly the monster that Yuuri was looking for when he took a sudden trip to St. Petersburg after rewatching the Grand Prix Finals from three years ago.

“I can do it,” Yuuri said, looking up at Phichit again with renewed confidence. “I already have music in mind, too. I just need to add the steps and jumps, and I had a program set up for it three years ago when I was going to compete but-”

“Oh my God,” Phichit said suddenly, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me you’re going to use the program Celestino made before you retired.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Yuuri argued, looking away from the camera defensively. 

“A _good idea_? Yuuri, that program ended your career!” Phichit sounded even more distressed now. “The jumps were insane, and even Ciao Ciao knew it. Yuri might be a talented skater, but he’s just a _kid_ -”

“No, Phichit, you haven’t _seen_  him,” Yuuri said, looking back at him desperately. “It’s incredible. He landed a quad axel like it was nothing. In the second half of his performance.”

“You’re kidding.” Phichit’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “A _quad_  axel? That’s- that’s-”

“Unheard of. And it was a part of his practice routine, not a program. He does that every day, according to his coach.”

“Impossible.”

“Exactly my point.” Yuuri tugged at the strings on his jacket anxiously. “He’s a ridiculously good skater. If anyone can handle the program Celestino started for me, it’s him. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Except Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri flinched before shaking his head to clear it. He didn’t need to be reminded of his idol- ever since the incident after the Grand Prix, before he retired, he hadn’t seen him at all. He’d even purposefully avoided going to the Banquet so that he didn’t have to encounter him, but that was probably for the better anyways.

“No,” Yuuri said, glancing up. “He’s nothing like Viktor. I think he’s _better.”_

* * *

By the time he arrived at the skating rink the next afternoon, Yuuri was exhausted. He couldn’t feel his fingers, or his brain for that matter, and he’d barely gotten three hours of sleep the night before.

But it was done. He had a program that fit Yuri Plisetsky perfectly. He dared say that it had been created exactly for him- when Celestino had somebody arrange the piece, he had been searching for everything Yuuri wasn’t. Bold, loud, and aggressive. Which fit Yuri to a T.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” was the first thing Yuri remarked on when he walked in, arms crossed. For a minute Yuuri was fooled into thinking he cared, but then Yuri continued, “I can’t have a useless choreographer who doesn’t take care of himself.”

Yuuri opted to ignore him as he put down his notes on the side and pulled the music out of his bag. Burning the music from the file on his computer to a CD had been a pain in the ass, especially since his knowledge of computers was so limited, and now he owed Phichit twenty bucks for staying up and walking him through it over video chat. He could only pray it worked.

“So?” Yuri skated over to the edge of the rink and picked up the notebook, flipping it open curiously. “Have an award-winning program yet?”

“Not for your eyes.” Yuuri snatched the notebook away and whacked him on the head with it, earning a cold green glare that he ignored. “Have you even warmed up yet?”

“I’ve been here for two hours, piggy. You’re slower than traffic in Moscow.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri started tying his own skates, ignoring Yuri’s muttered complaints. “It took me an hour to find a taxi.”

“There’s taxis everywhere,” Yuri said, eyebrows raised. “Hey, why are you putting skates on?”

“I’m getting on the ice, too. I’m not just going to stand here and scream at you.”

“That’s how they all do it,” Yuri retorted, frowning. 

“It’s not how I do it.” _And I miss the ice_. “Now stop asking questions and get into the center. First we’re going to run over the basics and the jumps I have planned.”

“We aren’t listening to the music first-”

“My. Program. My. Rules. Get on the ice.”

Yuri stared at him for a moment before sighing and obeying, but Yuuri didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes. He truly was a teenager, but Yuuri supposed there was nothing he could do about it but deal with him.

In the end, it took them all day to get something done, and even then it was rough. Partly because Yuuri was too tired to function and had taken so much caffeine in that duration that he was starting to shake just a little, but mostly because Yuri was _terrible_  at listening. It was actually exhausting. Eventually they had both decided on going to Yuuri’s hotel room and reviewing the choreography there, especially after the rink got more crowded in the afternoon.

“I can’t do this.” Yuuri finally gave up and collapsed on the benches outside of the rink, resting his head against the wall. Yuri was in the changing rooms still, making a point of banging around so loud Yuuri could hear it from outside. “He’s insufferable. I’ve met walls less resistant than him.”

“Sounds like somebody I know,” a voice chimed from beside him, hauntingly familiar. “He doesn’t even listen to his own coach.”

Yuuri’s head whipped to the side fearfully, and sure enough, he met eyes with none other than his idol of some eighteen years. Viktor Nikiforov smiled woefully before extending his hand, which Yuuri took almost reverently.

“Viktor Nikiforov, it’s nice to meet you!”

“I know,” Yuuri said, before having the sudden overwhelming urge to shove his face into a brick wall when Viktor blinked in surprise. “I mean- I used to be a big fan. We met back at the GPF a few years ago, but you probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh,” Viktor laughed, less uneasy than before but still a little shaken. He paused to quint at Yuuri before his eyes widened. “Wait a minute, I do know you!”

“…You do?” Yuuri couldn’t quite believe his ears. 

“Goodness, yes!” Viktor’s mouth stretched into a blinding white smile. “You’re Katsuki Yuuri, that Japanese figure skater who retired after a nasty fall a few years back.”

Yuuri stared at him, stunned. _Viktor-_  Viktor fucking _Nikiforov_  knew that about him? Viktor’s eyes suddenly widened even further, and the next words that came from his mouth shocked Yuuri to his core.

“Yuri’s your biggest fan!”

 _What?_  There was no way in hell that was right; Yuri talked back at him like a petulant child, and the most respect he’d shown was when he shut his mouth and listened on rare occasions. Was he supposed to believe that _Yuri_  was his fan?

“You must be mistaken-”

“Viktor, what the hell are you doing out here?”

As if summoned, Yuri himself appeared at that exact moment, his blond hair pulled back into a half-ponytail in a surprisingly feminine way that made him look a lot kinder. However, the scowl on his face wiped any false assumptions off of the floor.

“Yuri!” Viktor turned to him eagerly. “You’ll never guess who I just ran into.”

“What do you mean?” Yuri glanced towards Yuuri, confused, before his eyes widened. Yuuri could almost pinpoint the exact _oh, shit_  moment that crossed his face, which confirmed everything Viktor had just said.

“This is Katsuki Yuuri! I told him how much of a fan you are, so don’t be shy.” Viktor patted Yuri’s head before turning. “How about you take a picture with him? You can add it to the poste-”

“ _Shut up_ , Viktor!” Yuri hissed through his teeth. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-”

“Eh?” Viktor pouted. “But just the other day you were talking about the new one you ordered online-”

“Shut. _Up_.” Yuri’s face was dusted red with embarrassment as he started yelling at Viktor for being full of shit, but Yuuri wasn’t really comprehending anything they were saying, still in shock. 

He had a _fan_? And more importantly, his fan was _Yuri Plisetsky_?

“Holy shit,” Yuuri whispered to himself. “Holy shit.”

“Anyways,” Yuri said suddenly, spinning around to face Yuuri, “Viktor is full of shit so don’t listen to him. I can take you to your hotel so you don’t have to deal with the taxis here. This time of afternoon, there’s going to be none left.”

Yuuri stared at him blankly and Viktor stifled a laugh into his hand. “I think he’s in shock.”

“No thanks to your bullshit,” Yuri snapped, shooting him a dark look. “Why are you here, anyways?”

“I came by to practice!”

“You came by to piss me off.”

“That’s no fair, Yuri,” Viktor whined. “I just wanted to say hi! I haven’t seen you since Nationals!”

Yuri flinched, and Yuuri wondered vaguely what that was about, but before he could ask Yuri was walking away, turning a cold shoulder to Viktor and his antics. 

“Come on, pig. We’ve got to hurry if we’re going to make it in time for dinner.”

_They were getting dinner?_

“You guys are getting dinner without me?” Viktor sounded hurt, if only mockingly so, and Yuuri hesitated for a moment before blinking hard. Having dinner with Yuri Plisetsky _and_ Viktor Nikiforov would be too much for him to handle in one night.

“Yes, we are, so hurry up and get out of my sight!” Yuri yelled over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for, pig? If you don’t hurry I’ll leave you with him.”

Yuuri stared after him before Viktor gave him a little nudge with his foot, grinning widely. “He isn’t kidding. It was nice meeting you, Katsuki Yuuri! Here’s my phone number, so don’t hesitate to tell me everything about your relationship with little Yuri!”

A piece of paper was wedged into his palm, and Yuuri realized with a jolt that he had the phone number of _Viktor fucking Nikiforov_  in his hand.

Yuuri didn’t just hurry, he _ran_  to Yuri’s car, desperate to escape the building terror and shock bubbling in his stomach.

He and Yuri didn’t talk all the way to the hotel, aside from Yuri ordering a pizza and asking which hotel he was staying at. It was both awkward and strangely comfortable- Viktor’s appearance had sucked up all of Yuuri’s remaining energy, and Yuri’s silence made it a lot easier to calm down.

“So,” Yuuri finally broke the silence once they’d settled down in his hotel room with a box of pizza and the television running the news in Russian behind him. “About what Viktor said….”

“Viktor’s full of shit,” Yuri said, licking pizza sauce off of his fingers and glancing up at him in a way could have been sexual if it weren’t for sauce dripping off of his other digits all over the floor. _That’s going to be a hefty cleaning fee._

“That doesn’t answer my question, though.” Yuuri picked at the crust of his pizza thoughtfully. “Do you… did you actually have posters of me on your wall?”

It sounded vaguely like how he treated Viktor. Somehow, he wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of that. If Yuri was treating him like he was untouchable, it was no wonder he was so stubborn and stiff during practice. He needed Yuri to be open with him. To meet him halfway.

“Does it matter?” Yuri squinted.

“I could always ask Viktor.” Yuuri waved the folded up piece of paper dangerously. Yuri jolted before lunging over and grabbing his wrist, plucking the paper from his fingers.

“Absolutely not. The last thing I need is you two in kahoots-”

Yuri seemed to hesitate then as he glanced down at Yuuri underneath of him. His leap to claim the phone number had abruptly placed them in a rather unforgiving position, where Yuuri’s spine was pressed against the arm of the couch and Yuri’s legs straddled his hips. He was practically sitting in Yuuri’s lap- but he didn’t move.

Yuuri was frozen. This- he didn’t do well with things like _this_ , close physical contact. He felt like all of the air had been vacuumed from his lungs. Up close, Yuri’s eyes were smoldering greens and blues, like the ocean back in Hasetsu during the summer.

“I do,” Yuri said suddenly, his eyes slightly distant. “Have posters. That’s pretty weird for me to say, though.”

Yuuri hummed in agreement, still choking on the dense air between them. Even though he could, Yuri wasn’t moving. 

“But,” Yuri continued, eyes skirting over his face almost hesitantly, “but I’m probably gonna take them down. Kind of pointless when you’re right here, so.”

Yuuri’s heart was in his throat. Yuri was- he was a sight up close like this, pupils blown wide and strands of blonde hair falling in his face. Yuuri was distinctly aware of every rise and fall of his chest- Yuri was breathing faster than normal, so it was affecting him, too.

It was probably important to note that Yuuri wasn’t exactly trying to move away either. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri finally managed to force out. “You’re right. But… when did you get them? I mean, how long….”

Yuri laughed, a short and slightly pinched sound, his breath tickling Yuuri’s face. “After the Grand Prix Finals, right before you retired. Kind of contradictory, since I treated you like shit.”

Yuuri stared at him, confusion creeping into his veins. He’d seen Yuri at the GPF back then? He racked his brain, and suddenly a vague image came to mind- a younger blond kicking the door, getting up in his face-

Holy shit. That had been Yuri?

“I’m not so great at expressing myself, but I guess you figured that out.” At Yuuri’s nod, he smirked a little. “Sorry about that.”

Yuuri blinked before tilting his head. “No you’re not.”

“Yeah,” Yuri agreed with a small grin. “I’m not. But it’s the thought that counts.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Yuri said suddenly, his voice dropping a little bit lower. “On a scale of one to ten, how upset would you be if I kissed you right now?”

Oh. Wow. Yuuri had definitely not seen that coming- and the blush that spread across his cheeks proved exactly that. He stammered out a reply, “I… Why? Because you want to kiss your idol?”

“Hm.” Yuri seemed to contemplate that, staring down at him with an unreadable expression, before shaking his head. “No. Mostly because I want to kiss you.”

“Me,” Yuuri echoed, brow scrunching in confusion.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” Yuri clarified. “The one who offered to choreograph my short program for no reason. The one who sasses me back but doesn’t really yell at me. The one who looks really… kissable, right now.”

“The Katsuki Yuuri posters in your room are offended,” Yuuri said, for lack of a better reply, his tongue darting out to wet his lips almost on instinct- and yeah, Yuri was definitely looking at his mouth now. “You really underestimated them.”

“I did,” Yuri agreed, smiling a little bit. “Can I make up for it?”

The room was spinning now- Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what the hell he was thinking or how he had ended up here, but he _did_  know that kissing Yuri sounded like one hell of a good plan. He wanted a taste of the Yuri he’d seen when he had watched him skate, the one that was daring and bold, and boy was he getting it now.

Yuuri glanced up at him and managed to breathe out a soft “sure” and then Yuri bent down and did exactly that. 

There was a phrase in French that Yuuri had learned while attending college in Detroit- _coup de foudre_ \- that meant to fall in love at first sight, to be overwhelmed with the suddenness and passion in which it occurred. Translated literally, it meant a “bolt of lightning”, and that was exactly what it was like, to be struck numb by a feeling charged with power that came without warning and against his control. 

That was what it had been like when he first watched Yuri’s performance. Like he’d been struck by lightning.

That electricity rekindled itself against his lips the moment Yuri leaned down to kiss him, humming against his skin and through his fingertips. The whole spiel in romance novels about every touch being electrifying had always seemed stupid to him, because it was just two bodies coming in contact, how much could somebody draw that out for the sake of effect?

But he was definitely familiarizing himself with the feeling now. It was different, when he was kissing somebody whose touch he had been craving for a while now, and with the proximity, it was absolutely dizzying. Yuuri practically melted into the feeling, his breath escaping him in a soft exhale against Yuri’s mouth that was eagerly chased by nipping teeth and Yuri’s tongue sliding across his lower lip.

Every pore on his skin felt like it was on fire if it came into contact with Yuri’s, and a hazy cloud of desire seemed to punch his body into a reaction- his hands finally moving from where they lay uselessly at his sides to slide into Yuri’s hair and pull the half-ponytail loose. Golden strands pooled around his fingers and Yuri practically purred into his mouth, which made Yuuri even more aware of his presence.

It was kind of like being drunk, the fuzzy warmth pooling into his bloodstream like honey, but with sizzling heat against his skin. Yuuri decided he could really get used to this feeling, Yuri’s mouth feverish against his and his touch both fleeting and firm at the same time against his hips.

“Mm,” Yuri murmured, pulling back for a bit to gasp for air, his eyes sliding open to stare down at Yuuri. “Breathing. Breathing is… good.”

Yuuri laughed breathlessly in agreement, looking up and almost drowning in the intensity of Yuri’s eyes. The greens and blues seemed to swamp together to form an unearthly shade of verinian- normally, Yuuri wasn’t very poetic, but the sizzling feeling of the lingering kiss made his mind dizzy and disoriented. It was hard to look away, but equally difficult to look at him.

“You know,” Yuri said suddenly, looking down at him with the same focused gaze, “I think I might be able to do your dumb short program after all.”

“Favoritism?” Yuuri guessed, still struggling to resurface.

“A little,” he agreed with a dangerous smirk. “But also because I’m finding that I want to spend more time with the choreographer. Get to know him.”

“He’s going to make you work your ass off,” Yuuri warned, eyes glittering with mischief. He cherished the way Yuri’s grin dropped to a petulant scowl. “That is, if you can keep up.”

“I can definitely keep up.” Yuri bent down and grazed his lips across Yuuri’s, and the contact sent his heart racing once again. 

Yuuri could definitely get used to this.


End file.
